Page 35 of Tapeworld Induction

A new structure stood in the entrance square, a crystalline statue of a man sitting on a throne, legs crossed, arms to his sides, elegant and composed. Isaak gasped as he realised who it was supposed to be: Eltarc Romly, patriarch of the Second Revivalists, who’d been killed years ago. Isaak’s stomach turned in disgust. What sick fuck would erect this here? An evolutionary step from the far right, the Second Revivalists wanted to solve climate change the same as everyone else, but the way they wanted to do it was more extreme. The Second Revivalists were way ahead of fake news and conspiracy theories. They knew the facts but decided not to believe in them. Their climate change plan? Exterminate every other country in the world. By choice. By their bloody choice they were already terrorising cities and countries before the Apocalypse Revolt triggered The Dark Year.

Isaak saw the Tapeworld as a place to forget the problems of the outside world. But that didn’t mean extremists were welcome.

“Fucker.” Isaak drew a circle in the air, forming a blue electric sphere, and tossed it at the statue with a swing of his arm. It flew towards the figure. As it hit, the statue cracked, rock parting halfway through faux-Eltarc’s legs. “Fuck.” He’d been hoping to destroy it, but the attack barely made a dent.

He’d have to think about it later. For now, Astrid beckoned.

He continued making his way through the street. The neon signs caught his eye as he passed the buildings, each made out in a different architectural style.

The façade of one particular place changed every few seconds, from gothic, to roman, to art deco, never settling for any one aesthetic or art period. An ode to the nascent, evolving nature of the Tapeworld. The Emporium.

Closing the door to a kaleidoscope of colour and shape outside, he walked in.

The Tapeworld was built up of non-contiguous digital landscapes. Walking through the Emporium’s doors triggered an instantaneous transition to another tape-space, leaving the striders of the Boulevard behind.

This space’s decorations leaned towards an unchanging British pub aesthetic, completely disconnected from the neon sign outside. A comment on British stoicism, wood panels and shiny knobs everywhere.

Astrid was waiting for him in a corner booth. She was wearing a black blazer over a black shirt, black cropped trousers revealing foliage tattoos clinging to her legs, branches blooming into neat leaves inked in fine lines. Her dark-brown hair was loose, the curls framing her face. The collar of her shirt was popped up, making her look like a CEO of an opulent video-game manufacturer.

“Come, come.” Astrid stood from the booth’s leather seat, arms open, waving him closer.

Isaak approached cautiously, nodding at the muscular woman next to his boss. “Jewel. Haven’t seen you in the Tapeworld in a while.”

Jewel let out a gruff noise of acknowledgement. This was a woman in peak physical condition, building muscles everywhere he looked.

“Oh, I’m so very happy to see you, darling Ike,” Astrid said, wrapping her hands around his shoulders, squeezing them and pushing him towards his seat as she sat back in hers. Astrid grabbed a datapad at her side and fingered it eagerly, starting a cascade of keyboard presses and brief pauses, her lips twitching in and out of different shapes, soft circles and lines, as the words crossing her mind almost made their way out.

She became oblivious to his presence, her thoughts enraptured by the datapad.

The rictus grin on her middle-aged, fading-beauty face disappeared as it transformed into someone else for a flash of a second. The guard he shot. In the same breath, Astrid’s face went back to normal. She acted like nothing had happened, still absorbed by the pocket computer.

Was it a hallucination? Something like the vision of the EuroLeague final earlier? A microsecond-long apparition, summoned here in the Tapeworld from his subconscious, the duct tape twisting her face? His insides went weak. His space felt invaded, by something or someone. Anxiety pulsed beneath his skin.

He placed the tape recorder on the table. “Your loot.”

Astrid nodded at Jewel, who leaned over and picked it up.

“I’ll wire you the money, you little mercenary.”

“Am I done here?” he asked her.

Astrid lifted her eyes and paused the finger dance over the glowing screen. “Always a good question, Ike. Are you? You’ve been so straight to business lately. The Tapeworld is supposed to be a place to have fun. Go on, go wild.”

He didn’t intend to lead with this, but guilt forced his hand. He had to ask. “What or who did I—”

“Shoot? Oh, you’re so worried about it.” Astrid’s voice went up an octave. “Of course it was a bot, duh.” Her tone was dismissive to the point of mocking. So easy for her to dismiss this incident that had haunted him.

He didn’t believe her. Did she even know who or what it was that he shot?

“If you’re just going to take the piss, I’m leaving.” He figured he might as well, if he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of her.

Astrid slid the data slate towards him. Isaak grabbed it. It displayed a picture of a single-floor concrete building, a muted façade in a minimalist architectural style he recognised.

“MCM?”

She smiled. “You know your shit.”

The place looked like a Le Corbusier, or more likely someone’s attempt at recreating one. He’d learned about mid-century modern from Astrid herself, or rather from the books she kept in her flat. He pushed the memory of visiting her there away – it wasn’t welcome. The time he spent there was unpleasant.